Heading to cold requires research

Have I told you lately that I really hate the cold?

I know I’ve told someone lately that I really hate the cold.

Maybe it was you. Maybe it wasn’t.

I’m told that the worst cold snap in recent memory is past us and from here on out it just gets warmer.

How can I tell?

I’m still so cold from the cold snap that my bones haven’t thawed enough to recognize warmth.

Yep. I’m a real wienie when it comes to the cold. Don’t care who knows it.

We have one of those Florida Keys houses that have no heat source.

Well, that’s not exactly true. We have an oven.

And I made very good use of it over the last two weeks.

When I got home in the evening, I turned on the oven and opened the door so it would pour out its pitifully small amount of heat and maybe, just maybe, take the chill off the house.

Yeah right.

I spent a good deal of time standing in front of the oven door, turning myself around like a vertical rotisserie to warm first the front then the back.

When someone else had to use the kitchen, I grudgingly gave ground, rushing them through their operation and then taking my rightful place in front of the oven again.

When I heard it was going to get really cold (comparatively speaking since there were places below zero up north) I scoured all the local stores for a heater.

They had sold out when news of an impending cold front first hit the airwaves.

I found one local store that said they would get a new shipment of heaters in on Tuesday, which was supposed to be the coldest night of the coldest snap in recent memory.

On Tuesday morning, I rushed there. They had been backordered on every heater headed their way because the warehouse was in Tampa where the temperatures were lower than they were here.

I was devastated. I was cold. I was a real nag. I was cold. Did I tell you I was cold?

My sister in Ohio called to say she was sending heaters this way for me and my brother, who lives locally. She sent them on Monday, they arrived the following Monday when the temperatures had started to rise into tolerability.

Thanks for the effort, anyway.

My wife, loving soul that she is (and really a pain in the you-know-what because she likes the cold) went out and bought two pairs of thermal pants and some socks. I only owned one pair of white socks for occasional use when I need to walk a lot, one pair of brown socks for my only suit and one pair of black socks for funerals.

I used them all during the long, agonizing days of cold, and had to put them through the laundry.

And that ticked me off. During our annual cold spells, I have to put on pants two or three days, I can wash them and put them away until next year.

Not this time. I had to put them back on after the laundry. Not fair.

Toward the end of the cold snap my banged-up knees were staring to lock up, my banged-up right hand was beginning to curl, my banged-up right shoulder was beginning to throb, my old hip pointer was starting to make me wince again, and my several-years broken right toe was begging for mercy.

Have I told you that I really hate the cold?

A few days ago, it started to warm up. Not enough. Not yet.

But it had started warming up to the point where I could walk around outside without searching for my parka (which I don’t have) first.

Then, oh then, I find out that we have to go to New Hampshire sometime in the next six weeks to deal with issues with our newly acquired grandson.

It’s very cold there. I’ve heard it gets below zero there.

I can’t wrap my mind around those words—below zero.

There is nothing below zero—is there?

I can’t imagine being someplace (anymore because I used to, way back, live in cold-weather climates) where not only is there an absence of temperature, but there is less than an absence of temperature.

So here’s what I’ve been doing the last few days. I’ve been scouring the internet for hotels very close to where we must be. But I don’t book anything until I call first.

The conversation goes something like this:

“Do you have heated rooms?”

Yes, we do.

“Can I control the heat?”

No, we do that.

Hang up and go on to the next one.

“Do you have heated rooms?”

Yes, we do.

“Can I control the heat?”

Yes, you can.

“Can I set it anywhere I want?”

No, it stops at 68 degrees.

Hang up and go on to the next one.

You see, I’m trying to find the hotel that not only allows me to control my own heat but also allows me to turn it waaaaaaaaaaaaayyyyyyy up so I can stay warm.

If I can’t find one, I’m not going. You can’t make me. I’ll resist until death. Not even wild horses could drag me.

OK. Maybe the redhead with the five iron can make me.

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